Lovely Little Angels
by barefoot11
Summary: Madeline had a secret. Alfred had a secret. They tried their best to keep them secret - but Gillian can't keep still and Arthur's too polite. And how does the waiter come into play? AU, Human names used, gender!flip


It started over the phone. An unusual number – one she felt was familiar but she couldn't place it – vibrated on her caller-id. Her significant other had been looking for a job recently, so she figured it could be concerning that. She picked it up, idly, and said, "Hello?"

"Madeline! Wow, you're still in that dingy apartment?"

Familiarity clicked, racing down her spine and catching her breath. "D – Dad," she stuttered, her voice light in surprise.

"Hey, honey. How are you doing?"

Small talk. He was creating small talk. That wasn't within her father's personality. "Good," she said quickly, but then got to the point: "Dad, why are you calling?"

At that second, her front door opened. Her significant other was home – how inconvenient.

She twisted around, so her back was toward her open bedroom door. She closed her other ear with her finger when her other began to shout their loud greetings from the front of the house.

"Ah, I… just wanted to check up on you…" mumbled her dad.

She tried to make her laugh polite, but it turned out nervous. "Oh, well, thank you; but Dad, really. What's going on?"

Her bed sunk suddenly, as her lover was inquiring about her silence, pressing their hands on her shoulder and blowing into her ear.

Madeline turned red, and shooed them off, all the while trying to catch her father's reply.

"I was just thinking," he continued, other noises joining his voice from over the phone. "I haven't seen you or your brother for such a long time… wait, he still lives in the same apartment complex as you, right?"

"Yeah, Dad," she said, accentuating the noun just so her lover would get the hint and leave her alone.

They, after hearing that name, winced and scuttled from the bed, mouthing, "_I'll talk to you later_."

She nodded to them and then explained to her dad, turning worried eyes out the window, "Alfred and I are still here."

"Good. That's great you still see each other." More sounds came, as he chewed over his words. "Well, I was just thinking… why don't you two visit me next weekend? We could all go out to a nice restaurant to catch up…"

A smile shaped her lips. "Oh, that sounds nice..."

"…and you can bring your boyfriend with you. And if Alfred's been lucky enough to find someone, well, she can come too."

The smile passed, like a forgotten star. "O – Oh."

She could hear his grin through his words. "Well, you have found someone, right? Someone as cute as you couldn't have stayed single for long!"

Madeline casted her eyes out into the hallway, where her significant other was catching up on their shows. "No, I've found someone…" Her voice remained modest, as her mind spun in circles.

"Great. I doubt Alfred's finally settled down, though."

"Oh, no. Alfred's dating someone, too…"

"Oh, wow, really? Well, then, there should be nothing stopping my children from coming over!"

She wanted to create a lie. Make up an excuse – maybe she had previous engagements planned, or possibly her job needed her… but what came out was, "Right! I'll be sure to talk to Alfred." She sounded as happy as she wasn't.

The noises in the backgrounds had stopped. The only thing she heard was her father's joy. "Thank you, sweetie. I can't wait. How about... oh, well, we can settle the times later. Call me after you get Alfred's consent."

"Bye, Dad…"

"Bye honey!"

The line went as dead as Madeline's thoughts. She remained still for a moment, her finger latched in the curls of the cord and the reverberating sounds beginning to etch in her mind. And then, reality caught her up in a storm and the phone fell from her hand to the floor. She scrambled up and over her bed, dashing out into the living room, and burying herself in her lover's side.

"What's up?" they asked of her, turning the volume of the television down with the remote.

There was a moment of silence between them, before she said into their shirt, "…My dad wants to meet you…"

They laughed confidently. "And what's so wrong with that? Finally I'll be able to see where my beautiful apple fell from…"

The compliments – though sincere and genuine – were trying to soothe her worries.

She whimpered, clutching their shirt desperately and crying, "…I already know he doesn't like you…"

* * *

"Oh my God."

"Yes, Alfred…"

"Oh. My God."

"Alfred, yes, I know it's –"

"Oh. My. God!"

She blew the strand of hair away as it fell into her face. Patient, she listened to her brother's far-off shouts of despair (he had dropped the phone in shock) and tried to kept a level head for the both of them.

After a while, the phone was picked up, and Madeline could plainly hear her brother's heavy breathing. "You done?"

"Yeah, yeah… I'm okay…" He groaned, "For now…"

"Well, that's all we can hope for," she said solemnly. "Dinner is not going to go well."

"He's not even going to let us into the restaurant!"

She tried to laugh, but couldn't. "Now, Al, I don't think he'd go that –"

"Oh yes. Yes, he would."

Memories floated amongst her thoughts, and she had to agree with him.

"What are we going to do," he whined, and she could hear when he fell onto the couch. "There's no way to get out of this with our lives…" Then, his voice brightened. "Unless I just don't go! Yeah, tell him that I'm busy or something. I-I'm at work!"

Madeline dubiously replied, "He won't believe that you have a job. 'Cause you don't."

Resigned, he clicked his tongue. "Oh, right… well, tell 'im I'm doing something else! You're smart; think of an excuse for me!"

"I couldn't even think of one for myself," she exclaimed, frowning. "If I'm stuck, you're stuck."

"Maddieeeeeeeeee."

She could just imagine his violated pout and wide puppy eyes. The image didn't affect her as much as the real thing. "Ha. Since we're on the phone, your little innocent look doesn't sway me a bit."

"Aw, darn."

"But anyway, we need to be serious about this – what are we going to do?"

Simultaneously, his special someone and her significant other dropped onto the cushions beside them and asked, "Who you are you talking to?"

They said their sibling's names to their lovers, and with that, twin light bulbs rose in their heads.

"I've got an idea," they said, together, their words connecting over the phone lines and creating their fate.

* * *

She twirled the string holster of her purse, over and over, then releasing and then doing it again. Her finger was turning red from the constant pressure, but that seemed the farthest from her mind.

The restaurant's door was looming right in front of her, but she couldn't seem to move. Her eyebrows were creased in apprehension and she snuck a glance over her shoulder. "What if something goes wrong?" she asked, her voice near silence in the evening, threads of worry connecting her words.

"No," he said, patting her shoulder calmly and smiling, "you'll be fine!"

Madeline quirked her lips back at him. "Thank you."

Alfred was impatient, and from behind them he demanded, "Are we going in or not? I'm going to explode if I get anymore nervous…"

"Oh, you're nervous?" the girl next to him said, tapping his chest. "I'm surprised."

He glowered, if lightly. "Oh, quiet. You'd be too if you were in the same situation."

"I _am_ in the same situation!"

Madeline interrupted them with, "…It's seven o'clock…"

Alfred sighed. "Better get in there. Dad gets pissy if we're late…"

The bell rang as Madeline pushed the door open. It was foreboding and loud.

* * *

The table held room for six – and their father was already sitting at the head. He was browsing through a menu, and spread the largest grin when the pairs approached them. "Ah, you two! There you are! I haven't seen you in ages!" He rose from his seat to hug his daughter, and then his son when he came closer.

'Ages' was an exaggeration – they hadn't encountered one another for only three years. Madeline wouldn't have minded it being stretched longer.

Then he turned his eyes to the unknown guests, his chair still pulled out from the table. "And you two must be the lucky ones managing to snatch my kiddies!"

"Oh, Dad." Madeline blushed.

The father clasped the male guest's hand. "Hello, there. I'm Charles. And your name would be?"

The smile was firm. "Arthur Kirkland, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well aren't you the gentleman?" Charles praised, as their hands fell. He cast an indiscreet glance over his shoulder at his daughter. "What a catch – handsome _and_ polite!"

"Oh, Dad," she said again.

Charles moved his way to the little lady standing in the back. "Hello there. Now let me ask, are you really Alfred's girlfriend? He's not bribing you? He hasn't managed a lengthy relationship in years!"

"Dad," Alfred said irately.

"Oh," she exclaimed, as the others looked on. "Yes, I am, sir. I'm Gillian Weillschmidt. Nice to meet you." She shook his hand as lightly as she could.

"You've got quite the grip," he admonished, laughing. "Alfred, you did always like the strong ones!"

"Dad," he said again, just as annoyed.

Silence settled over them, as the restaurant carried on in their noise.

"Well," Charles began, clapping his hands together. "We shouldn't stand around. Please, sit!"

Madeline sat at her father's right – Gillian at his left. And then Alfred sat beside Gillian, and Arthur next to Madeline.

A small chandelier hung directly on top of them, creating little spots of light on the pure white tablecloth. Each utensil had etchings of angels on their handles, and the plates matched them. Little complementary mints were sitting before every one of them – Gillian had resorted to, out of sheer boredom, taking her fork and tearing the wrapping from the mint with it. It made a very unnerving screeching sound, but she only stuck her tongue out as she focused.

Charles was content to create the conversation, when he saw how an awkward silence had fallen. "Well, the most elementary question would be –"

A sharp _crack_ and a cry of, "Aha!" rang out.

He stopped, puzzled, and looked up.

Gillian had the fork – held like a stick – in one hand, poised for attack, and the split-in-half red-and-white mint in the other hand. The wrapping, well, was nowhere to be seen. She looked back at the four of them, blinking in her confusion. "What?"

"Just – nothing," Charles said, though he was silently dulled by her show.

She shrugged and popped the broken mint into her mouth.

While Charles continued talking, Alfred nudged her. "That's not ladylike."

"Who said I was ladylike?" she retorted lowly.

"My dad _likes_ ladylike," he hissed, before his father got his attention.

"So, how'd it happen?" the senior was asking.

"Ah – what?" Alfred said, but then he remembered his manners and refrained, "I mean, could you please repeat that?"

Charles's smile faded a bit when he realized he hadn't been listened to. "I said, the most elementary question would be to ask how the two of you met. So, how'd it happen?"

Alfred opened his mouth, but then the waiter came by.

"What could I get for you, lovelies?" asked the waiter, a grin on his face and a skip in his step.

Nothing could hide the flash that tore through Arthur's eyes. But he did attempt to hide under his napkin…

"Ah, Arthur!" cried the waiter, his countenance brightening at sight of the other. "How are you?" A pause. "Do you even remember little ol' me?"

A gasp ripped through Alfred, Gillian, and Madeline's throat, but only Madeline was able to keep it down.

"Yes, I remember you," Arthur said tersely, sitting up in his seat and putting a fake smile on his face. "Francis – how could I forget you? We worked on that wonderful project in college, yes! Such memories."

Francis frowned. "No, that's not it! Unless 'worked on a wonderful project' is what you're calling it these days, but I wouldn't –"

"I'd like the chicken," Gillian shouted loudly, covering over the rest of Francis's statement.

Francis looked at her, and then to the pad in his hand. "Oh, right. Um, sure… anything else for the rest of you?"

Everyone else placed their orders. Arthur sank back into his seat, forgetting his gentleman occupation for just a moment before sitting back up.

Alfred simply looked horrified.

When the waiter was gone, Charles created a scowl. "Who the hell is he, Arthur?" he demanded, all pleasantries faded and forgotten about.

"Ah, ah…" Arthur was caught off-guard. "He's… he's just a friend."

Something like a growl came from him. "Meh… he seems like such a queer. You shouldn't hang out with people like him."

Gillian bit down on her mint so hard that it splintered in her mouth.

"Oh, of course, sir," Arthur said without fail, his eyes softening. "Of course."

Charles leaned back in his chair, his displeased expression never leaving – it seemed that it was his natural emotion, and all of the previous smiles had simply been for show. "Now Alfred, how did you meet Gillian?"

Alfred yelped. He had been distracted in mindlessly tracing the lines on the plate and hadn't been following the conversation since Francis had left. His father's cold voice froze him. "H-How I meet Gillian?"

"Yes, son," he admonished crossly.

Alfred cleared his throat, as his heart sped and he wiped dirt from his face that hadn't been there. "Um, well, you see, w-we were both in… in… in…" He received a kick from under the table from the one sitting across from him. It freed him from his repetition. "Ah! We were both in a world history class at college, and we simply hit it off."

"Ah. How… ordinary," he said distastefully.

Alfred lost his words.

Charles coughed before referring to his daughter. "How did you meet Arthur?"

Madeline's smile shook before she settled it. "We met at the local library – he was really helpful."

"Oh, do you work there?" he asked of Arthur.

A beat of time registered in his head. "Uh… yes. Yes I do."

"Very nice. A librarian is respectable, even if it isn't well-paying… am I right?"

Arthur laughed. "Yes, sir."

"How old are you, Arthur?"

It took him by surprise, and by reflex he stuttered, "E-Excuse me?" He didn't know why the question seemed so off.

"Well, not to be rude, but you do seem to be older than Madeline. And I just need to be sure you aren't robbing a cradle."

Arthur laughed, but he was the only one. "Well, I'm twenty-four."

First, he was sure Charles wouldn't catch on – but he did, being quicker than he looked.

"Oh, that's just as old as Alfred…" He turned his eyes to the other pair. "And how old are you, Gillian?"

She had been busy removing pieces of that acute hard candy from her mouth. Small pieces were scattered over her plate, like forlorn icicles on a spread of snow. She had bit her tongue as well, and was curious if she was bleeding or not. "Wha?" Her pointer finger and thumb were between her inner cheek and teeth, trying to catch a stubborn piece.

He narrowed his eyes. "That's really not polite, young lady."

She put her hand at her side and opened her mouth to reply, but she, too, received a blunt kick from under the table. She struggled not to retort the way she had planned to. "M'sorry."

Charles still didn't approve of her slurred speech, but he refrained from saying so. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," she said plainly. She hadn't been listening to the conversation, and couldn't find a reason for the question.

"…Just as old as Madeline," he confirmed, and his guests stiffened in their seats. But he didn't notice. "Are you guys sure that Gillian wasn't a friend of Madeline's that she introduced to Alfred? Or that Arthur was a friend of Alfred's that he showed to Madeline?" And he laughed, as if the idea was so absurd.

"That sort of happened," Madeline was quick to say. "I – I had known Gillian before Alfred met her – and he knew Arthur before I met him. It's – It's rather ironic, to say the least."

He frowned. "Oh." And he was about to say something more, when the waiter came back.

Francis had a pencil between his lips, and both hands filled with trays. He put them down slowly but carefully onto the table, and placed each plate of food before each corresponding person. His long hair was still tied at the crook of his neck in a thick black band, with short little wisps curling out from it. It had been that messy since he had approached them initially. Then, he pulled the pencil from his mouth and said cheerily, "Is everything in order?"

"Yes," Charles said shortly, not looking up from his plate, "you can go now."

"Oh," Francis emitted, taken off from his high. "Um – enjoy?" And he left back to the kitchen, stealing hurt looks from over his shoulder as he disappeared.

"Damn him. I don't like how he… _holds_ that pencil. Could he _be_ any more obvious?" Charles said to his plate.

Madeline's hand began to quiver. She was losing her cool as quickly as she had gained it – and she hadn't even begun to eat yet. She wasn't sure if she could, with how her stomach was spinning over itself.

Arthur put his hand on hers. "Calm down," he soothed quietly. "We're about halfway through – you're doing well."

Again, she snuck him a smile. "Thanks…" She was near saying more, but her father's voice attacked them.

"I didn't plan on bringing this up so soon, but since we've got such an unqualified waiter I'd like to get out of here as soon as possible."

Arthur scowled violently before hiding it behind a neutral expression.

Charles coughed, twirling his spaghetti around his fork. He ate that selection before continuing, "Marriage."

The word was all it took. Gillian suddenly bent over, choking on her meat; Madeline spat her water all over the table; Alfred, with his abnormal strength, cracked the glass he'd been holding and bent his fork; Arthur nearly turned blue when he stopped breathing.

Madeline stood, her chair falling out from beneath her. "Oh, I am so sorry," she said, taking her napkin and trying to soak up the water pooling on the table. And then she noticed the damp spots on Gillian's shirt (which Gillian was oblivious of; she was still trying to steady her breathing). "I'm sorry," she said again, more to Gillian, as she reached across the table to mop at her shirt.

"No, no; I'm fine…" But then she stopped. Her tone twisted. "Maybe you could help me get it off? I don't want this shirt ruined, after all."

Madeline fought a smirk after a second, and was victorious. "Oh, of course. Dad, will you excuse us?"

"Oh, go right ahead," said Charles, still mulling over his guests' reactions.

Gillian stood as well, and waited until Madeline was at her side before they walked to the ladies' room. Madeline was fussing over the other's shirt all the while.

So the men were left at that fancy table. Alfred was wiping glass shards onto the floor, and Arthur had finally begun to take quick breaths.

Charles cracked his fingers. "That, I guess, turned out pretty well. I didn't want to spoil it to the girls – you know girls. If they find out that someone's going to propose to them before it happens, they freak out."

They both laughed together awkwardly – Alfred a bit more skillfully than Arthur.

"So. I think it's time I heard the ringing of wedding bells."

Breathing calmly, Arthur laughed, "That's… that's very expected of you, sir, but –"

Alfred interrupted. It was clear Arthur hadn't a thought train in mind. "Dad, it's too soon," he said bluntly, used to rebelling against his father.

"I say it's too late," replied Charles coolly, as he sipped at his drink. And then he pulled out a sting that hadn't been used. "Neither of you kids married in time for your mother to see. And I'm thinking you'd be too reluctant to make such a commitment that I'd never get to see it, either."

Alfred's eyes had gone wide, and after a moment, he gasped, "Dad, please, that's not… don't bring Mom…"

Arthur was observant. He was also very protective. So when he saw the resounding pain in Alfred's eyes, he wiped at his own mouth with his napkin and said, "I was planning to."

In a jerk, Alfred asked, "Planning to what?"

"Planning to propose to Madeline," barked Charles. "Could you get any more ignorant?"

After that comment, Arthur had trouble keeping emotion out of his voice. "I – um. Well, Madeline's such an amazing girl – and in the prime of her life. I think we've been through enough that marriage is an option."

Charles grinned smugly. "I'm growing to like you more and more, Arthur. Well, you have my permission!"

Arthur hadn't asked for it.

"So when are you popping the question?"

Alfred was hanging for an answer as well.

"I was planning for somewhere near Christmas, just since I know it's her favorite time of year."

"Well, it's September now," Charles explained, "are you sure you can wait that long?"

Arthur smiled weakly. "I'm sure I can."

At that time, Gillian and Madeline came back – looking more refreshed. They sat down at their respective seats, small smiles on their lips.

"Oh, I see the stain didn't come out…" Charles referred to the water stain still evident on Gillian's blouse.

"I tried many different things," Madeline said, "but nothing seemed to get it out…"

"Oh yes," Gillian assured, "she tried _many_ different things… some things I've never even seen before!"

A foot connected to her shin under the table.

And in a flurry of movement, Francis was back to check up on them. "Is everything okay?" His smile was renewed, and he was still holding his pad and pencil even though he didn't need it.

"Everything's fine," Charles said darkly, bending his neck low.

Francis looked to the other members of the table, trying to see if the statement was unanimous.

"Um – could you get me a refill on my ice water, please?" Madeline requested, very kindly, sending him a reassuring smile to try to up his spirits.

Francis grinned. "Oh, sure. Anything for you, cutie." He took the glass and said, "Back in a moment!"

When he was gone, Charles told them, "Don't let him fool you with the pet names. It's just a habit of his… did you hear how he called us 'lovelies' earlier?"

No one bothered to reply to his complaints. So he settled back, finishing up his meal. And then when he looked up, something slight caught his eye.

"Madeline, what's that on your face? It's red… is it blood?" He didn't sound as concerned as he was curious.

Madeline stopped in her movements. Her spoon hovered above her bowl, the soup spilling from the sides of the small utensil. "Um…" First she was bewildered, until a shred of knowledge split her head and she jerked, dropping the spoon loudly. "Oh – Oh – that – that's not –" She was furiously rubbing at her cheeks, trying to rid it of the smudge.

Gillian was frozen.

Charles said, before she could gather her words, "You're supposed to go to the ladies' room to freshen up, not to come out with mysterious stains!" There was no inclination in his voice; maybe a slice of humor, but no suspicion.

"M-Mysterious stains, right," she stuttered, dropping her hands. But as a result, her whole face was red, though the stain was gone.

Gillian rubbed at her face as well, fleetingly, a thoughtful frown covering her red lips.

Francis came back at that moment, rather pointed in his attendance. "There you go, young lady," he chirped, placing the ice cold glass in front of Madeline. "Is there anything else any of you need?" He scanned cloudy blue eyes over each member of the table. He hovered physically at Charles's left.

"Oh, sir," continued Francis, looking at Charles's skimpy plate. "Are you done with this?" He leaned over, taking the plate in one hand. His ponytail fell over his shoulder, hanging before the senior's face, but not obnoxiously. "I mean, you still have a bit more but you –"

"Just take it," he grumbled, barely refraining to keep the derogatory comments out of his statement.

Francis paused. "Sir? Is something wrong?"

"Take it!"

Francis nearly fell over himself at the tone. "Oh – um – well, okay, then…" He took a second to gather the man's plate. He looked helplessly at Arthur – his only connection at the table – wondering what he was doing wrong.

Arthur shook his head at him, and Francis left.

Suddenly, Charles had someone else to base his anger on. "Gillian, what in the world are you doing?"

Gillian stopped. Her plate was upside-down, and her empty glass was sitting on top of it. She was just beginning to balance the utensils over the lip of the glass when she halted. "Um?"

Charles was stricken. "This is a restaurant, young lady! Not a play pen! Who do you think you are?"

Gillian opened her mouth, but was lost.

Alfred snapped, "Dad, stop talking to her like that!" He was taking a stand, as his emotions finally began to run high.

"What? She's embarrassing all of us with her foolish games!"

"That doesn't give you the right to be so condescending." Alfred reached out, gathering up Gillian's silverware and putting them back in order; Gillian remained still, but her eyes flickered furiously. Alfred then kissed her cheek. "Don't listen to him," he said into her ear, then he pulled back, as if he had said nothing.

Arthur smiled lightly, trying to change the course of the subject. His eyebrow twitched despite himself. "You're so kind to her, Alfred."

"What's that supposed to mean, Artie?" Alfred turned narrowed eyes toward him. He was begging to be messed with – he was not in the mood anymore.

Charles didn't like that. "Why do you call him Artie?"

Another moment of tense silence. And then Arthur was rushed to say, "He doesn't like my name. He says it's too formal, sir."

"Too formal? That's a good thing, Alfred! It wouldn't kill you to be a bit more gentlemanly yourself. Take Arthur as a role model – try to act like him." Charles's eyebrows hadn't moved from their furrowed position. They almost seemed stuck there.

Arthur had a small little smile, sad and barely distinguishable.

Alfred rolled his eyes, as if he had heard it too many times before. And he had.

Francis was persistent, and rose next to their table as if by mist. "All of you seem to be done with your meals… will you be requesting dessert, or shall I bring the bill?"

Charles choppily said, "Bring the bill. And don't dare write your filthy phone number on the back of it." That one he didn't hold back. But he wasn't ashamed.

Though his stance faltered for a moment, Francis only blinked. He didn't move for quite a while – not until he realized exactly what the senior's problem had been all along. "Oh," he said, a smirk coming over his mouth; his tone wasn't innocent, "don't flatter yourself."

Charles rose like a dragon. "Excuse me?" Fire roared in his eyes, and he nearly spat it from his voice.

"Oh, sir," Francis explained, not losing his professional air, "Don't get me wrong – you're simply dashing for a man your… stature," he coughed modestly there, "but don't you think you're a bit too old for me?" He pulled on the most desirable expression he could manage.

That pretty face spewed blood after Charles's fist slammed into it.

* * *

They were dropped off in front of Madeline's apartment near one in the morning. She unlocked the door with wet and blood-shot eyes. She was barely able to press the key into the lock, but her lover's hands guided her to it.

They stumbled into the dark apartment, each of them passing guilty groans. When Madeline finally activated the light switch, she shut the door and locked it again – completed, complaints rolled.

"Oh, my God, Alfred," Gillian sputtered, on her knees near the couch. "You taste like feet!"

"I'm sorry," Alfred cried, his tongue sticking out from his mouth. He refused to put it back in. "But if I didn't give you a kiss, he would have doubted me…"

"We didn't need tongue. Ugh." Gillian was rubbing her lips, ridding it of the awful taste. But then she saw Madeline, sitting numbly on the cushions. "Maddie, help me get his taste out?" she requested, puckering her lips.

"No," Alfred said, "if you do, Maddie, you'll be indirectly kissing me!"

Madeline managed to smile, though she didn't feel like it. "He's right, Gill."

Gillian gave out a cry and ran to brush her teeth.

Alfred sought out Arthur, who was ordering their shoes near the door. "Artie… she tasted like lipstick. Get it off."

Arthur rubbed Alfred's lips free of cosmetics, then kissed him.

"It's your fault for kissing her," he said as he pulled back, sounding a bit annoyed but content.

Smiling, Alfred said, "I'm so sorry for making you watch that."

Leaning close to him, Arthur shrugged. "I'll get over it eventually…"

Madeline was flicking through channels, when she suddenly stopped. "…You've got to be kidding me…"

"What?"

"…It's on the news."

"Ah, no way!" Alfred shouted, hurrying to sit beside his sister.

Gillian heard them from the bathroom, and ran out. "They'd better have gotten my good side," she said needlessly. She approached the couch, but saw the only seat beside her lover was filled. She scowled and sat on Madeline's lap, when Alfred didn't move.

"_An assault has been reported from_ Rue de Jean_, a local French Restaurant._"

"See," Arthur said, "they don't have video. Just paper reporting…"

Gillian was disappointed.

Madeline brightened her mood with, "All of your sides are your good side."

"_Only one has been injured, a Francis Bonnefoy._" A picture of him, without his bruises, popped on screen.

Arthur scoffed. "He would tell reporters his name… and he probably carried that stunning picture of him in his wallet."

"Stunning?" Alfred asked.

"Uh, I mean, average." He gave Alfred a kiss on the cheek.

"So that was his name," Madeline said to herself, wrapping her arms around Gillian's waist and appreciating her smell. "Francis Bonnefoy…"

"_The attacker has been taken under custody, but refused to leave his name. Mr. Bonnefoy is in the hospital – his condition is unknown. Neither is it known how the assault was influenced._"

"They don't know anything," Gillian said incredulously. She turned her head around to Madeline. "Why are they bothering to report it if they've got nothing?"

Madeline shook her head. "I don't know. Just to get people aware." She kissed her lips.

"People complain if they don't know things," Alfred sighed.

"I don't know half of what they're saying because you keep talking!" Arthur snapped, smacking the other's stomach, even though he knew Alfred really hadn't been the one talking. He simply missed the contact.

Gillian was bored. She jumped from the couch, and laced her fingers with Madeline's. "We're going to bed," she said, lifting the other on her feet and leading her from the room.

"But I'm not tired," said Madeline, though her face said different.

Gillian leaned close to her. "But I've miiiiissed you." And she locked the bedroom door behind them.

Though Arthur was very intent on watching the news, Alfred turned it off. "Okay. What the hell."

"I should be asking you that!" Arthur cried, referring to the blank television.

"No," Alfred murmured, his tone serious. "That marriage thing."

Arthur frowned, settling into the other's side. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I do!"

Arthur closed his eyes. "…He'd get suspicious," he started. "Your dad, I mean. He really wanted… the marriage of his children, you know. And what else was I supposed to do?"

"Um, not threatened to propose to my sister?"

Arthur poked him in the spot on his side where he knew he was sensitive. "Stop it. I know I shouldn't have told him that… but we have until December to figure this out. That gives us time, right?"

"No," Alfred groaned, solemn and weary. His head dropped to rest against the top of the couch. "It really doesn't…"

* * *

Gillian had her head on Madeline's lap, while Madeline slowly rubbed her hair. "Why is the world so stupid?"

"Mm?" She had been near sleep. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." She scowled, though Madeline couldn't see. "Your dad. Why do homophobes exist?"

Madeline was silent, watching the stars glitter outside of her window. Dark trees fluttered, obscuring her perfect view of the sky. She sighed. "You know I can't possibly tell you…"

Rolling over, Gillian stared up at her with watery eyes. "Try."

Madeline was taken aback. "Gillian… I'm sorry for putting you through this," she whispered, the unshed tears in the other's eyes bringing her down and to tears as well. "I'm so sorry…"

* * *

**A/N**: I apologize about Francis, by the way… he wasn't supposed to be in this story, but with my new icon I couldn't get him off of my mind…

And about the dad – I wanted him to be a Hetalia character originally, but then I realized no one in Hetalia was so awful. /: So I brought in a character I made up on the spot. (Now it's easier to skewer him on a stick and put him over a fire! :D)

Update: And I have decided that yes, I will be making this a multi-chapter story - but the next chapter will take a while; I'm sorry. (You could check out what I'm currently working on, _Invisible Roses_, while ya wait. ;D)

**R&R**~!


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